


Today at Dust

by mimillekoishi



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Btw Bellamy is a drug dealer, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:30:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimillekoishi/pseuds/mimillekoishi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it's too hard to love, impossible to ignore, all's left to do is hate</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today at Dust

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's supposed to be the clexa love week but I was in the mood for angst.

Lexa hates Clarke.

 

 

It all started a morning of September when a fifteen year old blonde put a gum in Lexa's hair, just because. When mocking blue eyes despised, when supple pink lips shamed, when husky voice laughed, when small hands never missed an occasion to flip the bird at everyone and everything.

It all started in a distant past, at a time when Clarke couldn't just stay away from Lexa.

 

Lexa hated Clarke, it changed. Today Lexa hates Clarke permanently.

 

 

 

_“Coffee?”_

Lexa hates that Clarke's voice is the first thing she hears. Angry, face in her pillow she growls “Fut up.”

“My, my, someone is grumpy in the morning!” a foreign voice humors.

For an instant it shocks her. For an instant Lexa feels guilty for what she's done. But the painful realisation is fast as a lightning bolt, a cruel one that always hits the same target but never kills. Shame dissipates as she remembers that she is single. That she's been single for quite a while and doesn't owe loyalty to anyone anymore.

The woman sits up in her bed and throws a tired look at the blonde stranger in her room. Lexa hates that she is blonde but not enough, that her eyes are blue but not enough and her tits so soft but not enough. She hates that she's still there, polluting her environment, that she is a mistake, that same mistake she does every time she drinks. That same mistake she seems condemned to reproduce again, and again, and again whenever she gives in to her ghost.

 

But the girl did nothing wrong. Unlike Clarke she is nice so, softer, Lexa answers “No, I'll just go back to sleep.” It's a lie but it's better that saying the truth. Lexa is not like Clarke. Lexa tries not to break other people's heart.

“Okay.” the girl approaches and plops down on the bed next to the woman. She pecks her lips, smiles, places a paper on the bedside table and says with a blush “Call me?”

It takes a lot to Lexa but eventually she fakes a smile and lies “Sure will do.”

 

The girl stands and exits the room, finally. Passing a hand through her hair and closing her eyes, Lexa sighs. Mentally she prepares herself for the next realisation of the day. With a clumsy hand she blindly reaches out for her bedside table. After a few tries, she finds her phone and grabs the century old Nokia. She presses a random button and looks down at the screen. She's already an hour late for work. Not that much compared to last week but Gustus will be mad for sure. Why he hasn't fired her yet is a mystery for Lexa. Or so she tells herself to find the strength to ignore his pitying, caring eyes.

Positioning herself at the edge of her bed, she puts her phone back onto the table. The neon pink post-it catches her eyes and she takes it. On it a phone number and that same request “Call me” with a little music note drawn to punctuate. Lexa snorts. Now she vaguely remembers stealing the musician of the piano bar yesterday.

But Lexa has no time to waste with a nameless girl. She crumples it into a tiny ball and aims at the bin under her desk. She throws and the ball draws a perfect arch in the air before gracefully ending its flight into the bin.

_“Score!”_

Clarke's voice yells from the dephs of Lexa's memory.

“Shut up!” Lexa answers as she relives against her will the last match of the basketball tournament in high school, as she sees Clarke jump in the air when she saved the game at the last second, as she hears the blonde cheer for her for the very first time. The guilty blush on Clarke's face was perfect.

Lexa shakes her head “Shut up! Shut up!” she repeats. “Leave me alone!” she orders, standing in one move, clenching her fists.

Then she remembers her mother's words, Lexa closes her eyes and breathe. It takes her a few minutes but eventually she relaxes. Lexa hates her traitorous memory, never showing her what she wants to see, always imposing thoughts she tries her hardest to forget.

Drawing in one more breath, she makes a face, discovering without real surprise that she reeks of sex and sweat and alcohol. She smiles at the short lived relief that those scents somehow cover the too old reimnants of Chanel n°5 that stick to her skin. But she can't go to work wearing the smell of her mistakes, Gustus would kill her.

 

 

With a sigh she lazily paddles to the bathroom. Steping into the shower, she grabs the showerhead and opens the tap, turning the faucet on the right to the maximum. For a minute, as she waits for the water to heat up, she directs the jet to the floor. When the water foams she places the tap's faucet back in the middle and starts to wet herself.

_“Water Lexa!”_

She hears.

“I'll take as much time as I want!” the woman growls.

And she does. For minutes she lets the water flow, cascade over her and wash away every smell but one. One that she tries to cover with vanilla soap. For her hair, she ignores the chamomile bottle of shampoo and takes the cinnamon one. She uses too much as usual. She isn't used to her short hair yet and she probably never will be no matter how many years pass. She hates that she misses Clarke's busy fingers on her scalp, patiently braiding her long brown curls.

When she's done showering, more out of habit than necessity she looks at her reflexion in the mirror. Her exhaustion is obvious. Gustus will know right away. But again it's not like it's the first time.

 

 

Drying her hair with a towel she heads back to her room, just in time to hear her phone vibrate. She picks it up and opens her inbox. She has a message from her bookshop, informing her that they received her order. She'll have to drop by at Nylah's later today. Or not. On it's own, Lexa's thumb presses 'back' then scrolls down quickly and clicks on the name Lexa hates the most.

_Clarke – Aug 23_

20 _:27- Tomorrow, 8pm. You choose the place. Counting on you to pick me up ;)_

Clicking her tongue she presses exit and throws her phone on her bed. No way she'll answer to that ever again. No way she'll let Clarke orders her around like that. Not this time.

 

Now annoyed, she turns around and opens the wooden door of her closet, the left one, with way too much force. Quickly she looks at her (small) half of the too full piece of furniture, rummages through her things and chooses shorts Gustus won't judge too short and a tank top he won't judge too light. Randomly she picks up plain coton underwear and dresses quickly.

Without wasting more time, she returns to her bathroom. She doesn't brush her hair, nor does she use the dryer. She picks up a toothbrush and hurries to wash off the awful taste of morning off her tongue and teeth.

 

 

She doesn't eat breakfast, she's not hungry. She gets out right away and takes her bicycle, grateful that the atelier is close by. She takes her time, the heat of the approaching noon already being too much to make any kind of effort.

_“Come on you slug!”_

“Shut up!” Lexa snaps back at the voice in a growl as she pictures eighteen years old Clarke cycling by her side and reminding her that whoever looses the race is a dead oyster and will have to buy the winner ice cream.

Just like that day, Lexa doesn't answer Clarke's provocation. She's never been the competitive type and besides, Clarke never pays for anything anymore. But unlike that day, when she'll reach her goal, she won't taste ice cream off Clarke's lips. Because Clarke left. She left but inevitably she comes back, over and over again and already hazelnut flavour coats Lexa's tongue.

“Fuck you!” she swears, scaring a bird on the side of the deserted road “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” she repeats then blushes in embarrassment as she sees a woman protectively cupping her laughing kid's ears in the park nearby.

 

 

Eventually she reaches the atelier. She hasn't even put a single toe inside that Gustus already scolds “You're late.”

“I know, sorry boss.” she answers without bothering to fake honesty. It's not like it's the first time after all.

Ignoring him she goes straight to her desk and picks up the sketches of pendants and bracelets and pins and rings. Matching rings.

Lexa sighs and exclaims “Seriously again? We're artists, not machines!” she states throwing the pile back on her deck messily.

Gustus shruggs “They pay for it.”

“But it's so common.”

“It gives us work.”

Lexa hates that Gustus is right. That half of their clients ask them to fix what's broken or carve ridiculous words or pictures on pieces of jewlery. The brunette doesn't mind carving the photo of a dog on an old woman's golden pendant but cliché words on wedding rings? She hates it. She hates words like “Love forever” because it's meaningless. She knows it, the 'forever' people promise each other doesn't exist.

“I won't do it again, the rings are yours.”

She's sitting at her desk, taking the bracelet's sketch when Gustus explains “The rings are for old acquaintances of mine. They just renewed their vows.”

“What do you mean? They remarry?”

“They've been married for fifty years. Christine told me that when in a couple hundred years someone will exhume their bodies, when all is left of her and Alex as people is a pile of disintegrating bones, when nobody on earth will remember that they ever existed, she wants the person that dug them out to find those rings. She doesn't mind if they don't know to whom belonged the rings, all she wants is for whoever finds them to think 'Whoa they really loved each other.'”

Gustus doesn't say anything more. He knows he doesn't need to. Lexa grits her teeth and swallows as something, regret and envy settles deep in her stomach.

Taking a deep breath she reaches out for the red box. Inside, two rings in beautiful white gold. No diamond, but a tiny clear blue sapphire on the smallest one and an emerald on the other. Both have been enlarged a few times, the stones are a little damaged and the gold is old and dirty but they're beautiful pieces. Lexa shakes her head. Gustus knows her too well.

'May my love for you last forever and more.' It's a long sentence and with the typos Gustus chose this may actually end up being pretty. Nodding to herself, Lexa sits at her desk and starts to work.

 

 

_“You're very good at this.”_

Lexa stops working putting her tools back on her desk and whispers “Shut up.”

_“Would you mind carving two more?”_

The woman knows what's coming, she remembers. And she doesn't want to relive this again. The beginning of the end, the day she gave up on her freedom, the day some heartless blonde enslaved her.

Through gritted teeth she growls “Shut up.”

Lexa closes her eyes. As she feels Clarke's warmth in her back, her arms around her shoulders and her breath in her neck, she clenches her fists and stops breathing.

Lexa hears the smile and so unusual tint of uncertainity in Clarke's voice when the girl says

“ _Marry me Lexa.”_

“Shut! Up!”

Lexa stands, slamming her hands on her desk, crumpling papers and throwing her stool to the ground. She needs air but doesn't take the time to breathe, she turns around and goes straight to the cupboard in the restroom. She tiptoes and runs one hand on top of the cupboard but doesn't find what she seeks. Heart hammering, pulse deafening, breath ragged and anger boiling in her veins she returns to the atelier where Gustus is still working as if nothing was happening.

Fists clenched and trembling she asks “Where is it?”

Focused on his work Gustus answers calmly “Threw it away years ago. You were with me remember?”

There's no way she woud've done that “No. Where is it.”

“You don't need it Lexa.”

“Fuck you.” Lexa spits out. She paces back and forth biting her thumbnail for a moment then takes a decision.

As she bolts outside Gustus yells “Alcoholics and addicts don't have their place under my roof!”

 

 

She's on the street dialing Bellamy's number that she still remembers somehow when her boss' words finally sink in. Eyes wide in realisation she drops her phone that burnt her hands.

“The heck am I doing...” she questions out loud not quite believing yet what she was about to do. How did she reach that line again? How is she at the bottom after years?

Of course she knows the answer. It's Clarke. That's because Clarke is still there, always, leaving then coming back. That's why Lexa hates Clarke. Because she makes her weak, makes her suffer, makes her warm and wanting her when she's away.

Lexa closes her eyes and throws her head back. She didn't do it. In the end she didn't do it, that's what counts. Or so she tells herself.

After long minutes of breathing in and out, a young girl's voice nicely asks “Is that your phone miss?”

When Lexa opens her eyes she sees a little girl around six years old, blonde with blue eyes, the archetype of those angels they show on TV. Or maybe she's not that blonde and her eyes are grey but somehow she hasn't been able to see in anything but gold and blue for years.

The joke of fate is cruel, so cruel but Lexa is used to it, used to fake. She smiles widely and with calm she answers “Yes thank you”

The girl smiles a smile full of holes and extands her hand barely big enough for the old Nokia “Here. You shouldn't leave it on the ground. Someone could crush it or steal it.”

Taking her phone back the woman says “I doubt anyone would steal that but thank you for the advice.” Lexa winks and the little girl blushes and giggles, probably overjoyed at the idea that she was helpful.

“Mary! Stop bothering the lady and come here or we're leaving without you!”

A black woman yells from the other side of the street and the little girl answers “Yes mommy!” She adorably fails to wave at Lexa then runs to the cross walk. She stops at the edge of the curb, looks around carefully before joining her mother. The woman smiles and waves at Lexa before taking her daughter's hand and walking away.

 

 

The encounter had Lexa relaxing so when she looks back at the mistreated device she's not angry nor sad nor hurting. She's empty of everything, and it's without thinking that she goes back to her texts inbox.

_Clarke – Aug 23_

20 _:27- Tomorrow, 8pm. You choose the place. Counting on you to pick me up ;)_

Lexa needs to end this. It has to stop.

Hopeful that it'll be the last time, the woman dials Anya's restaurant's number.

Two beeps and then a voice “Restaurant Wilde's, can I do something for you?”

Lexa chuckles at the lack of insurance in his tone but she won't tease him this time. “Hi Aden.”

“Lexa!” he's happy to hear her voice obviously and she'd love to talk with him but she doesn't have the time, not now, not today.

“Hey monster. Can you hand me our sister please?”

“Of course. Give me a minute.”

There's a deafening 'clank' when the too violent boy puts down the phone then its a mess of muffled voices and sounds. The restaurant must be full. Not surprising knowing that it's probably the best italian in New York.

Another weird sound and then “Hey.”

With a smile Lexa answers “Hey.”

“I didn't think you'd call.”

“I didn't think either.” Lexa confesses. She hates that she's calling Anya, that she's going all the way to reserve a table in a restaurant for Clarke. Clarke from whom she's planning to separate herself from after today.

Lexa hears the other woman sigh worriedly so she explains “I'll put an end to this.”

“Lexa...”

“Don't say it.” the brunette knows she's had this conversation too many times for Anya to believe her but whatever. This time is the last time. “Just- trust me okay?”

Unconvinced Anya answers “Okay. Same hour, same table, same menu?”

“Yes please.” There's silent then “Oh and Anya...”

“Mhm?”

“Thank you sis.”

The other woman snorts “Don't mention it. See you tonight.” and she hangs up as abruptly as usual. Lexa shakes her head. Anya is too easy to embarrass.

 

When Lexa returns to the atelier, without a word she goes to Gustus' desk. He went out to have lunch so she puts the bag of cookies she just bought on a pile of sketches. It's bad for his diet but Lexa knows he can't resist them. She smirks at the thought then goes back to her own desk, picks up her stool, sits then starts working, a weight off her shoulders.

 

 

All she wants when she goes home is a cold shower. No, a freezing shower. The heat being too much she literally crawls up the stairs then to her bathroom. She peels her clothes off her sweaty skin and almost moans her relief when she's finally naked.

She stays under the shower for way longer than necessary, just letting cold water cool her down but eventually she has to leave her happy place.

This time, she dries her hair. This time she picks up a short sleeved white shirt that and pinkish white skinny jeans that she hates. This time she opens the shoe box at the bottom of her closet.

_“I like the red one.”_

“I know.” Lexa answers, taking the old, worn out red tie out of the box and tying it around her neck.

This time she opens the drawer of her bedside table and picks up jewelry. Four rings on one hand plus two on the other including that massive snake thumb ring Clarke hates. She also take what she used to consider her lucky charm, a certain blonde's first present to Lexa, a single green jade stone that the too long leather strand has hanging low on her chest. A stone that used to graze Clarke's skin when she laid down under Lexa in bed. The woman wouldn't be surprised if the girl had bought it with this sole purpose in mind. The woman shakes her head to clear her mind. Not now.

 

 

She considers bringing nothing but tonight is special. If she has to bring something at some point it's tonight so she goes to her favourite florist that she knows never closes before seven.

When the brunette pushes the door open the red head woman at the counter raises a mocking eyebrow “Lexa! I wasn't expecting you!”

“Oh fuck off Shane.” the brunette answers, rolling her eyes.

The woman sighs and asks “So what will it be today?”

“Do you have like, fifty roses left?”

Shane's eyes open wide in shock “Are you sure?”

Of course Lexa isn't. She's unsure about everything she's about to do, she's hating every second of it, hates that she can't help but always find an excuse to answer Clarke's order to meet her, hates that it's not the first time, hates that it will not be the last. No. It will be the last. This time is the last.

Of course Lexa is unsure but she answers “Yes. In fact, I'll take as many as you have.”

 

It's sixty three red roses in hand that Lexa leaves the shop and begins the hardest walk. She hates that walk she can't help but take. It's not because it's long, nor because the heat is still heavy or because she's wearing heels and her feet will hurt. Lexa hates it because it leads to the place she hates the most in the entire world. Somewhere she seems unable to stay away from. The place where she can find Clarke.

Lexa hates that she knows the way by heart, knows every tree, every rock and anomaly on the pavement, every house she passes by, every dog, every cat, everyone and everything. She hates that every step hurts, each bringing her both closer and farther away from Clarke. But she comfort herself in thinking it's the last time. This time she'll be able to do it. This time she will leave and never come back, never think about Clarke anymore. It's like any addiction, to stop it you just need determination, or so she learnt eight years ago. If Lexa is strong she can do it, she believes.

 

After forty minutes, finally she reaches the gates. They're open as usual but Lexa waits at the doorstep for a moment. Her heart used to race whenever Clarke was involved or even just mentioned. At first out of fear and then happiness and excitement, sweet fluttering feelings that died years ago. When Clarke crushed everything, when she disappeared, left Lexa alone only to come back and haunt her over and over again.

Now Lexa is angry and yet she is here standing on this doorstep with flowers in hand and a reserved table at a restaurant. Here she is wondering if this was a good idea, if it won't make it worse, if she can really push Clarke away after tonight. She shakes her head. She needs determination. She takes a deep breath and steps forward, finally entering the omnious place.

 

Lexa knows her way inside. She walks for a minute then turns left and counts.

One. Her blood cools down.

Two. Her heart beats faster.

Three. Cold sweat moists her lower back.

Four. Wetness leaves her mouth.

Five. A hard ball cloggs her throat.

Six. She's almost there, soul and body torn apart by opposite needs, a paradox of feelings she can't describe. Nostalgia, excitement, happiness, pain, anger, loneliness, fear, everything swearls inside her, dizzying her.

Seven. Here she is, and suddenly her mind is blown. Her eyes lower and there is a name, Clarke's name and an invisible hand wraps around her heart in a death grip. At her feet, the reimnants of her last visit a month ago when she passed by a florist and bought green holly and heather in bloom out of the blue because she remembered that Clarke loves Victor Hugo.

Lexa takes a deep breath and with a weak smile, she greets “Hey.”

_A cruel memory answers“Missed me at work?”_

Out of conditioned reflex Lexa speaks the truth “Always.”

_Clarke giggles “Remember what day we are?”_

Lexa knows this conversation by heart, she's had it so many times already. Wanting to play it one more time, one last time, she smiles and teases “August 24th?”

_Clarke slaps her shoulder, rolling her eyes“Silly.”_

“Of course I remember.”

How could she forget? Lexa remembers everything, every part of their lives together, every scream, every word, every whisper, every breath on skin. She remembers Clarke, her lapis blue eyes, her chamomile perfumed hair, her pink cheeks, her soft lips, her tiny feet, her husky voice, her fears, her joys, her adoration for hedgehogs and disgust for carrots. Lexa remembers everything but Clarke seems to forget.

_“Our 8_ _th_ _anniversary already. Time goes by huh?”_

That's the moment something breaks, something precious. That's the moment the illusion the woman created vanishes like a droplet of water in a desert. That's the moment reality falls back over Lexa in its entirety and crushes her like a bug.

“Hey Clarke.” her smile drops “It's been ten years today you know?” she sniffles and falls to her knees “Ten years since our 8th anniversary.”

 

Lexa leans forward and as she traces the sharp edges of a W carved on Clarke's tombstone, she's reminded of the words she carved herself on the inside of the lonely ring she wears on her left hand. Words made empty by time, at least for Clarke. No, for Clarke only and Lexa hates it.

A first tear rolls down Lexa's cheek as trembling lips confess “It's too painful to love you Clarke” Calmly, controlling her breathing as best as she can, she takes her phone out of her back pocket. She goes to her inbox then scrolls down and presses enter when the name appears.

_Clarke – Aug 23_

20 _:27- Tomorrow, 8pm. You choose the place. Counting on you to pick me up ;)_

Lexa rereads the eighteen year old text and relives their very first date. The time Lexa spent in front of her mirror to pick a tie, that same tie she now wears only once a year. How stressed she was but also so eager and happy to finally be allowed to love Clarke. How much she spent on buying flowers as an appology for taking her date to the Wilde's family restaurant. How beautiful Clarke was in her blue dress and so surprissingly shy. How ridiculous it was for such a young girl to wear CHANEL perfume. How soft were the touch of Clarke's hands, of her lips, of her whispers on the very uncomfortable but unforgetable backseat of Anya's old car.

A soft, wet chuckle shakes Lexa's body at the thought that it took Anya a quarter of second to understand what they did to her baby, and three months of chores for the young brunette to be forgiven.

 

Rememberance is sweet until it ends so as soon as Lexa returns to her harsh reality in which Clarke is missing, she breaks. Screaming she does what she should have years ago and throws her phone at the marble stone. The seemingly unbreakable device explodes, but the stone is unaltered, white and cold and concrete.

“Why won't you leave me alone!?” Lexa yells, fisting at the grass underneath her “I have to let you go don't you get it?!” her voice is raw and angry, speaking words she's held back for too long “Give it back! My life, give it back!” She punches the earth and sobs waiting for an answers but nothing comes. Of course nothing comes.

The silence is frustrating, empty and heavy because Clarke is never silent, Clarke always tries to get the last word but this time she doesn't. And Lexa hates that.

The woman bites her lip and takes a deep breath. Holding back another sob she softly begs “Please talk to me.” But it's not what Lexa wants, and she can't help it, can't help but voice her wish “I need you. Please come back...”

But again there's nothing but suffocating silence and Lexa moans in pain. Slowly she lowers herself to the ground. She rests her forehead on the grass and her tears break free. Already her body shakes and trembles, her breathing is ragged and unsteady but in a last effort, she forms the words, the most important words, those that burn, melt everything, consume one's world mercilessly until nothing is left unscathed.

 

“I love you.”

 

 

As usual Lexa screams. As usual she cries. As usual she pleads. As usual she sobs as loud as her poorly functioning throat and lungs permit her. As usual she's indifferent to the last song of the nightingale or the gold that the dying summer sun pours over the now purple sky. Nothing exist around her, nothing but the weight of the immense, overwhelming ten year old pain crushing her, gnawing at her flesh and bones like a hungry wolf on a marrow bone.

 

As usual she will raise and walk away, leaving the flowers behind but not her suffering. She'll go to the restaurant and order Carbonara for two but will only eat half. She'll go back to the place she once called home but that is now nothing but a too big empty shell she can't get rid off no matter how many times she passes the doors of that same estate agency. And she'll return to that bed she and Clarke chose together, that beautiful ebony bed of which they broke all the slats at least once.

 

As usual she will go to sleep wishing for this cruel perpetual torture to end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lexa growls as morning light reaches her eyes through her eyelids, sealed close by dried up tears. Yawning she rubs her eyes with the heel of her hands. If the cool air entering through the window to gently graze Lexa's naked skin is anything to go by, it's still early morning. For once she has time. She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. Unlike Lexa's feelings, it aged from white to greyish.

“Ugly.” Lexa groans out, thinking that she should repaint it soon.

She closes her eyes once more, enjoying the emptiness of her still half asleep mind

 

But the blissful state of that waking up moment is short lived. Something feels wrong, something's missing. Lexa knows what it is and that as soon as she'll be lying on her side and see by herself she will hurt again but the pull is too strong for her to fight.

So slowly she changes position and in an instant her own life is ripped away from her. As she realises for the 3652nd time that Clarke is dead, that Clarke won't come back, that Clarke changed forever into never, the weight of this world and all the others fall back over Lexa. It hurts, almost unbearable and for a moment she believes it will kill what is left of her, wishes for it to do so. But that moment passes and to her own disappointment, she realises that she still breathe.

 

Out of habit now, Lexa runs a hand on the cold empty space beside her. She closes her eyes and hopes to forget, for Clarke to vanish entirely from her life, to let her live and as silence surrounds her, as no memory flashes on her eyelids relief washes over her. But Lexa is weak.

 

_“Hey beautiful. Coffee?”_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is inspired from a Victor Hugo poem called Demain dès l'aube (tomorrow at dawn).  
> Here is the translation :  
> Tomorrow, at dawn, the moment the countryside is whitened,  
> I will leave. You see, I know that you're waiting for me.  
> I will go through the forest, I will go across the mountains.  
> I cannot stay far from you any longer.
> 
> I will trudge on, my eyes fixed on my thoughts,  
> Without paying attention to my surroundings, without hearing a single sound,  
> Alone, unknown, back bent, hands crossed,  
> Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.
> 
> I will not look upon the gold of nightfall,  
> Nor the sails from afar that descend on Harfleur,  
> And when I arrive, I will place on your grave  
> A bouquet of green holly and heather in bloom.


End file.
